THE TRASHMAN (2 page)

Becky gathered most of the containers and took them inside. I told him two more chairs would be good if he had some to spare.

“Got a couple of folding ones. I’ll set them by the rope. Did you bring computers with you? Laptops or something?”

“We have our laptops.”

“We don’t have Wi-Fi. I’ll run a cable out so you can connect to the internet. You’ll want to keep up with what’s going on. Atlanta declared martial law. People are going crazy now that all the hospitals stopped taking patients. We’ve been watching the riots and looting on TV. You want a TV? I’ve got a spare one. It’s not flat, though. Weighs a ton.”

I can tell Sam’s embarrassed about isolating us. “A TV would be nice. The kids are starving and we need to get the food in before it gets cold. We can talk later?”

“We can do that. I’ve got to pick up a tagged car from the 75, but that won’t take long. Lucy said to let you all know that’s the only full meal she’s fixing, but if she does any baking she’ll add ya’ll in.”

Sam was referring to Interstate Highway 75. “Sam, tell Lucy we appreciate breakfast and that we can take care of our own cooking. We appreciate you, too. I’m sorry we dropped in like this, but we had nowhere else to go.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to go anywhere else, but you understand my need for caution. Hell, we ain’t even picking up our mail for fear it’s contaminated. Way people are dying, I figure delivery will stop any day now.”

“How bad is it getting?”

“Real bad. I’ll get the cable ran to you this afternoon and you can see for yourself. One of the talking heads at CNN said the CDC is calling the plague ‘a near extinction event’. FEMA issued an order to place the dead on the curb for pickup. The videos show there isn’t a curb without bodies next to it. Some have been there long enough to begin rotting. Ralph, I’m slap scared shitless we’re all going to get it. They said it’s airborne. Does that mean we could be breathing it in right now?”

I almost laughed at his question, but didn’t. Hell, I was scared shitless, too. “No, it can’t travel far in the air. What they mean is that if you’re near someone infected, their germs can travel to you if they sneeze or cough.”

“Shit. It’s lucky I don’t have to mingle with anybody picking up an abandoned car, but this is going to be my last run. I’ve got—”

“Sam, skip the haul. I doubt you’ll collect your fee. Stay home and protect your family. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind having a weapon. From what I remember from past conversations, you’ve got several, right?”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Hell, Sam, the same thing you need to do, shoot anyone who comes on your property and tries to come near you.”

“Just shoot someone in cold blood?”

“No. You warn them, and if they don’t listen then you kill them. Man, woman or child.”

“Shit. Ralph, I do something like that, Lucy would
shoot
me.”

“Take your chances then, but don’t leave me defenseless. I’d like a shotgun and a couple dozen rounds for it.”

“I’ll run it by Lucy.”

“Sam, this place isn’t far from the interstate. I can hear the traffic at night. It won’t be long before scared, hungry people fleeing the cities and towns begin showing up. I’m not asking. Get me a weapon to defend my family or I’m coming to the house to get one. I mean it. What will you do, shoot me? I’m your brother. You’ve got me and my family isolated, yet you’re indicating you’d hesitate to enforce isolation from strangers. You just said you won’t shoot trespassers, well then I guess you won’t shoot me.”

Sam was thunderstruck by my outburst. It was a long moment before he replied.

“If people are dying as fast as the news is reporting, I reckon the fire department and police are thinned out too. This is a messed up deal, Ralph. You’re serious about shooting people, aren’t you?”

“Damn right I am. Sam, I have to say this. You’re in denial. Just the fact you want to carry on like normal, go pick up an abandoned vehicle from the side of the road, shows your priorities are skewed. All you should be thinking about is survival, and survival means avoiding any chance of contact with someone carrying the plague. I mean no chances, no contact.”

Sam shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. He didn’t do a very good job of it. “Good thing we have the fruit trees.”

“Jesus, wake up would you? You won’t have fruit until summer. I wish you had some chickens or pigs. How much food do you have in the house?”

“A good bit. Lucy went shopping the other day.”

“I would say that was stupid and there’s a possibility she was exposed to the virus, but we did the same thing before we came here. That rope fence of yours works both ways. Skip the chairs and TV and any more food. We can’t accept food or supplies from you.”

I called Becky from the house.

“Bring the food back out. We’ll fix our own. Lucy was in town a few days ago and who knows, we could be in as much danger from them as they are from us.”

Becky shook her head. “We’ve already hung blankets from their house and spread the bedding mats. If they’ve got it, we’re already exposed.” She gathered the rest of the containers and carried them in.

Sam still hadn’t collected his wits. “We’re about out of propane for the furnace and stove. We may need to order some. I’ll pay on the phone with a debit and won’t have to go near the delivery truck.”

“Try calling them. Ten to one they don’t answer or they refuse.”

Sam pulled his phone from his pocket. Obviously, he had the propane company in his contacts because he hit a couple of buttons and put the phone to his ear. He listened for a while and then returned it to his pocket.

“It went to voice mail. I’ll try again later.”

“Dial 911,” I demanded.

“And say what if they answer?”

“Ask them if it’s okay to shoot trespassers if they won’t keep their distance.”

He pulled his phone out again and pressed the numbers. To my surprise, he was answered.

“Uh, er, I’m calling to see if it’s lawful to shoot trespassers that might be carrying the plague. Uh huh. Uh huh. I see. Maybe you should just go home.”

When Sam returned the phone to his pocket, his hand was shaking.

“The lady… I know her. She goes to our church. She works the switchboard. She told me she’s the only one who reported in today, and that none of the first responders showed up for their shift, police, firemen, nobody. She’s the only person in the building except for the janitor who let her in. She said even the State Governor’s office isn’t answering their phones. None of the government offices are answering. All she gets is voicemail.”

“What did she say about shooting people?”

“She said it wasn’t the Christian thing to do, but to use my best judgment.”

I nodded. “Given the kill rate of this plague it won’t take long for it to run through hosts. The only people left behind will be the ones who are naturally immune or get it and fight it off. I imagine there are people in isolated places who won’t get it. In a few months, it’ll run out of people to infect and cause its own extinction. All we have to do is avoid any contact with people until it does. I want that shotgun, Sam. I want it today.”

“I’ll leave it beside the rope. You want a.22 target pistol, too?”

“Will you have enough weapons for you and Lucy?”

“Yeah. Lucy can use the .410 loaded with birdshot. I’ve got my hunting rifle and a Beretta 9.”

“Becky can carry the pistol. The women aren’t going to like it, but we have to convince them. Warn people off first. If they don’t leave, fire a warning shot. If they still won’t leave, if they try to come close, we shoot to kill.”

Sam shuddered. “Convince the girls? I need to convince
myself
.”

Inside, Becky had a plate for me. I took it from the table where the kids were sitting using the only two chairs. They weren’t chatting and bickering like they normally do. I ate standing beside a workbench. Becky joined me.

“I think we have enough food to last three weeks. I packed the multi-vitamins we had on hand.”

I didn’t respond to her statement.

“Sam’s bringing us a TV. He’ll run a cable over so we can keep up with the news.”

“I have connection to the web on my phone but it’s pretty much useless. When I try to navigate to a site, it times out.”

“Have you tried calling Neal and Maggie?

I didn’t have anyone to call. Sam and I were orphaned in our teens after dad, coming home drunk from a party, hit a telephone pole. He and Mom died right there. None of our relatives from either side of the tree stepped up to the plate, so we wrote them off.

“I don’t have Neal’s number. My sister’s goes straight to voice mail. Dad’s phone, too. It’s cold in Pittsburg. Maybe the virus won’t spread so fast there.” Becky’s mother died three years ago from breast cancer. Her father lives alone in the home she grew up in.

I didn’t want to say anything to destroy her hope. I couldn’t remember any such news from the broadcasts. As far as I knew, the plague was spreading just as fast up north.

“That could be. I know germs spread faster in warmer climates.”

I told her about my conversation with Sam, and that he’d bring the weapons over. I have to say she’d held up well so far, but the bit concerning the weapons was too much. She put her fork down and started crying. I mean downright sobbing, tears running down her face like a waterfall. She sagged and I dropped my fork to grab her so she didn’t fall to the concrete floor.

She latched onto me and buried her face in my chest. I held her until she finally stopped gasping for breath. The kids, frightened by their mom breaking down, began crying too. At least they weren’t wailing.

Becky tightened her arms around me.

“Oh please God help us.” She held on a bit longer and then let go. “Guns! You want us to shoot people?”

Sam picked that moment to shout for me.

“We’ll talk later. The kids need you.”

Sam was at the rope. He had the shotgun, a 12 gauge, and the .22 long-barrel pistol. He also carried a small portable radio.

“Damned cable went out while I was getting this stuff. All we have is a square saying ‘No signal’. Some radio stations are still broadcasting.

“The news ain’t good. The President’s in the hospital. Given her age, she’s not expected to pull through. The Vice President’s already dead, so is Speaker of the House. Right now I don’t know who the president is, or even if we need one. I guess you were right. FEMA’s great announcement is to avoid contact with other people.”

While he spoke, I examined the shotgun he set near the rope. A Mossberg 4+1. I opened it and saw a chambered round. A cloth bag he set on the ground beside it held more 12-gauge shells and a box of .22 long rifle bullets.

“The pistol’s loaded, too, with a round in the chamber. The magazine holds ten.” He fished in his pocket. “Damn. Back away from the rope. I forgot to put the extra magazine in the bag.”

I carried the weapons and radio into the workshop. The children sat at the table playing a card game. I went to a bench near an electrical receptacle to plug in the radio. Becky came to me and reached for the pistol. The whites of her eyes were red, but she’d calmed down. I leaned the rifle into the corner where the bench met the wall and checked to make sure the safety was on before handing her the .22.

“You’ll need to show me how to use this.”

I nodded agreement. “Let’s finish breakfast first. World coming apart or not, I’m starving.” I held off telling her the world had unraveled and that we probably didn’t have a Federal Government.

We ate and then washed the containers the food came in. Although I was familiar with weapons from growing up in rural Georgia and from a short time in the army—they booted me out due to a bad knee—Becky and I didn’t own weapons.

So we wouldn’t frighten the children, we told Jen and Will to stay inside and not to worry if they heard loud noises, that we’d be shooting at targets and it would sound like shooting on TV.

The temperature had climbed some since morning and all we needed were lightweight jackets. Sam was on his front porch. I shouted to let him know we would be firing the pistol. He shouted back to plug away at a massive oak tree twenty yards from the rope at the front of the shop.

I showed Becky where the safety was located on the .22 and then demonstrated firing it, talking her through the steps.

“Honey, real life shooting isn’t like the movies where someone draws a pistol and starts blazing away. The object is to hit what you’re shooting at, and unless you’re a well-practiced sharpshooter, hitting a target, be it paper or a person, is harder than you’d think.

“The first thing is to get comfortable on your feet. You want to face your target with one foot slightly in front of the other.”

She glanced at my feet. “Does it matter which foot?”

“I don’t know. Whichever feels best. Do you see the knot, looks like a big wart a couple of feet below the first limb? That’ll be the target.” I raised the pistol to point at the tree.

“Now look at my hands. See how my free hand supports my gun hand. Notice both arms fully extended. Once your hands are set, undo the safety, take time to aim—lining up the sights onto the target—and slowly squeeze the trigger.”

I lowered my arms, ejected the magazine so it wouldn’t auto-reload, and demonstrated the firing position again, this time actually letting off a shot at the knot. I hit the tree five inches down from it and three inches to the left.

“You missed,” Becky said.

I had to chuckle. “At this distance that was a fine shot with a pistol. Actually, I was close enough to the knot that if it were centered on a man’s chest he’d be in a world of hurt.”

I showed her how to work the action to make sure there wasn’t a round in the chamber and then had her dry-fire the .22 a number of times. I explained about keeping her eyes open and letting her breath out as she aimed and why it was important to not jerk the trigger. That the point was to be surprised when the firing pin hit the bullet.

I returned the magazine to the receiver and had her fire a round. She hit the tree in line with the knot, but a foot low.

“Put the safety on and relax,” I instructed her.